


She Was The Morrigan, Meant to be Free

by brandyovereager



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Cold Feet, Heavy Angst, Runaway Bride, Second Thoughts, im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-19 08:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22308301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brandyovereager/pseuds/brandyovereager
Summary: A heavy dose of angst featuring Mor leaving Az at the altar
Relationships: Azriel & Morrigan (ACoTaR), Azriel/Morrigan (ACoTaR), Feyre Archeron & Morrigan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	She Was The Morrigan, Meant to be Free

**Author's Note:**

> Angst. You have been warned. Read at your own risk.

It hadn’t taken more than one afternoon to find her perfect dress. The very first store her and Feyre walked into had racks upon racks full of lace, gossamer, and taffeta so thick they could hardly tell the mermaids from the A-lines. The shop worker seemed to know exactly where she was going though, and within ten minutes she had six dresses pulled for Mor to try on.

She’d chosen the third gown she tried on. It was light and airy with a double layered chiffon skirt—perfect for her May wedding. The seamstress had made a few alterations to fit it to her and it now hung perfectly on her full hips.

Now, the morning of, the dress felt neither light nor perfectly fitted. It was heavy—so rutting heavy—and suffocatingly tight. It was all wrong. Everything was wrong.

The flowers in her hands were gardenias—who in their right mind let her pick gardenias—and the stems were tied together in a silky yellow ribbon—disgusting. Feyre and Amren were each dressed in simple, camisole-strapped, midnight blue gowns. They looked beautiful, but it was sickening.

While the other two women were occupied placing extra pins in their fancy up-dos, Mor quietly slipped down the hall to the closest door. As soon as she turned its handle she breathed the un-tampered air deep into her soul.

She was The Morrigan. She was meant to be free.

But she wasn’t quite free yet. In her jitter-clouded mind she hadn’t looked at what lay outside the door, and now found herself face to face with about ten of her wedding guests. This certainly didn’t look good.

She knew exactly what they were thinking, could see the conclusion drawn in their minds as they registered what was in front of them. Here was the bride, dressed in her full finery, slipping out an exit that most definitely did not lead to the aisle where her fiancee waited.

She would have been more ashamed, would have tried to explain herself, had the situation not been exactly what it looked like.

She’d thought she could do it, thought she’d be happy with this as her future, but now she was only guilty and ashamed. He was a wonderful man, had been nothing but perfect in how he treated her. She loved him so much, she really did, but it was time to face the fact that she could never love him the way he did her—the way he deserved to have his wife love him.

She had tried her hardest to make this work, had wanted it to so bad, but all she’d done was dig herself too deep. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him before. She was going to ruin him now.

And that was what broke her, made her want to vanish into thin air. There was even a self-sacrificing part of her that willed her to turn around, to walk right back into that hall full of people and go through with it. She couldn’t do this to him. It was pulling her apart to leave, but it would be an absolute lie to stay.

He deserved better than that. Deserved better than her and her lies.

The side-exit door opening drew her attention. Soft, grey eyes found her own. Feyre. Feyre had found her.

For a moment Mor was ashamed all over again—afraid to face Feyre knowing what she was doing—but her best friend’s gaze held no judgement. Feyre was concerned—concerned for Mor.

It was then she remembered her friend’s own story. How she had left someone she loved on a day just like this—though in a far more hideous gown. Even with how terrible Tamlin had treated her, she still loved him. She still knew she would bring him pain by leaving. Feyre understood.

Mor threw her arms around Feyre and pulled them tight together. She realized her limbs were shaking only as she observed them next to Feyre’s steady ones. When Mor had calmed slightly Feyre pulled herself back to look in Mor’s eyes.

“Do you want me to talk you down, or am I about to be your getaway driver?” She was the perfect friend, simply willing to be whatever Mor needed, no questions asked.

“Do you have your car keys?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'M SORRY


End file.
